After her bestselling debut, Behind Closed Doors, the mystery writer is back with her second novel. She confesses that until recently she'd kept her literary success a secret—even from her closest friends.

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If the sky speaks of anything It speaks of rain An anxious whispering of the wind The dark clouded brow of sky A chance raindrop before its time Surely, these are auguries if anything is.

Thunder reverberates overhead Through the backyard Through my soul My actions are a tumult of hurry Feed the dogs Bring them in Stow the lawn chair cushions inside a weather-proof bin Watch for the wind Preparations before the rain.

I did not know for sure it would rain It was a guess, a conjecture Instinct told me more than the weatherman could And when it came, there was no mistaking it That glorious onslaught against the window panes Rain like the patter of children's feet Like soldiers' drums Like lovers' voices, rising and falling through the dark. Thunder like a parent's voice, low and reproving Welcoming even if it heralded lightening.

I was glad. Sometimes, there is something oddly comforting in a storm But then again, I watched from the inside, not from within the torrent Perhaps it is no different than letting yourself fall into a reverie Letting it take full control Castles crumble to dust And are rebuilt in a day Dragons are faced Villains confronted Friends lost and gained And even a thunderstorm can be braved.

Imagination, such a fascinating place to visit I wouldn't live there though I'd never completely abandon this world for that other Or venture out now into that storm

What storm? Gone. As brief as a memory of a dream Bells from the neighboring church Fill the newfound silence The sun glistens on newly bedecked leaves Strung with raindrops as with pearl necklaces.

When it is my time to leave the world behind I want to exit as this rain has Quietly Leaving splendor and beauty behind Perhaps regretfully But knowing each thing has its place and time.

Sun and rain cannot exist long together One must acquiesce, eventually They are not enemies though Rivals perhaps But there is no bitterness between them The sun and rain are perhaps not so unlike life and death Life submits to death Death gives way to life Can there be life without death Or death without life? Can one truly live if one never dies?

Though it's sunny here It's raining somewhere And the sun speaks promises of another life